


One Wednesday Afternoon

by Indieblue



Series: Let The Stars Fall As They May [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Female Friendship, Flirting, Friendship, Gen, Hogwarts Founders Era, Implied Relationships, Relationship(s), Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 20:25:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9201050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Indieblue/pseuds/Indieblue
Summary: Third part of a collection of Founders drabbles, shorts, oneshots and random scenarios. Mainly Salazar/Helga and Rowena/Godric, because I ship them something intense. Some of them shall be happy and full of light, but some of them will be fraught with sadness and sorrow. Non-canon (not that there's a lot of that as it pertains to the Founders).





	

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you enjoy this series!!
> 
> My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com

 “What is he doing?” Rowena asks with pursed lips, twirling a dark curl around her finger absently as she looks out at the grounds from her place up in the tree.

  She’s wearing a thin, dark blue, sheer dress that makes her look like she's been cloaked in night, with flecks across the fabric that paints the stars that spread across the dark sky.

 “Which one?” Helga asks distractedly, wiping the back of her hand across her forehead. It is a sweltering day, and she’s weeding her plants.

  She widely splays her fingers across the dirt, and magic courses from her fingertips into the earth as she feels for the roots, for the life energy of the produce.

  She closes her eyes and hums a happy tune.

  Rowena lets out a soft laugh, and it jolts Helga’s concentration; she frowns lightly as she sits back on her haunches, folding her dirt caked hands in her lap across her warm yellowish-green dress. Helga cranes her head towards her friend, and then follows her line of sight.

 Honey brown curls, broad shoulders and strong muscles. 

  “He really thinks he can slay anything with that sword,” Rowena comments, shaking her head. She cocks her head to the side as if studying a strange creature.

 “He probably can, but don't tell him that, or his head may swell so much that it becomes an easier target for all the beasts he so desperately seeks,” Helga replies, rolling her eyes.

_ I should bake a pie, Salazar might like that. Then he may actually come out of that dark dungeon that he likes so much,  _ Helga purses her lips, scrunching her nose as an itch suddenly pops out of nowhere. She has dirty hands, so this is quite a problem. She decides to ignore it, and her thoughts drift back to the dark haired, bright green eyed wizard. 

 She recalls his large hands caressing her cheeks, the ghost of them still visits her in her dreams. The fresh taste of his mouth on hers lingers too.

  Helga shakes her head to rid herself of such notions. It is the week before school is scheduled to pick back up, she has more important matters to trouble herself with.

  She looks up at Rowena then, and how the dark haired beauty watches the reckless man as he practices with the exquisite sword that a Goblin had gifted him with. She hopes that her friend will have more luck than she has, and she sees the longing in Rowena’s face. 

_ Why must we love the ones who only bring us pain? _ Helga thinks sadly.

 A sudden gust of wind whips across her features, and she closes one eye, her right hand moving to tuck the wildly thrashing locks of golden hair behind her ear.

 Movement on her right catches her eye, coming from the castle dressed in all black, despite the muggy weather, is Salazar.

 A powerful presence, his aura is staggering, wrapping all that come close to him in its clutches. He is charming, devilishly so, and his lean frame towers over her at all times. His cloak flaps out behind him as he moves, like a predator stalking its prey. 

 His sharp angular face is looking down at her in a handful of minutes, she sees the danger that lurks below the surface. She knows who he is, she understands him better than he wants her to.

  “Helga,” Salazar’s deep and velvety smooth voice greets, her name sounding precious as it leaves his lips.

  She smiles warmly, and how she wishes he would let her in, for he may be dangerous and powerful, but she isn't some delicate flower.

  She can't help but think-as she gazes into his bright green eyes, so like the plants and nature that she loves-that she must be a fool to fall for such a man.

 Then a faint tweak of his lips shows, and she knows she has no chance, but she doesn't care. If she's going to drown, she would gladly drown by his side.


End file.
